


Support

by CreativeReading



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4722242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeReading/pseuds/CreativeReading
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Steve and Sam's urging, Bucky joins a group therapy meeting. There, he finds out that he's not the only person who needs support. Tumblr request - support meeting au. (Bucky/Darcy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Ch. 1**

James Buchanan Barnes was broken.

No, that wasn't right. Being broken meant that there was possibility of being fixed, of becoming whole again.

Bucky didn't believe that was true.

Instead, he was shattered, like when you drop a mirror and a million pieces scatter all over the floor. And no matter how hard you searched or how long you tried, there were still pieces missing.

Jagged fragments, sharp and deadly.

He was better than he was before, thanks to Steve. He remembered his name, his parents, his childhood apartment. He remembered saving Steve a hundred times in nearly every back alley in Brooklyn.

He also remembered trying to kill Steve.

But parts of him were still gone. He had forgotten the date of his father's birthday, the tune of his favorite song, the taste of sugar cookies cooling from the oven, the scent of the pork chops his mother would cook on special occasions. His brain would reach for the details and more often than not, they would skitter away leaving him with an undefined sense of loss.

Both Sam and Steve told him to have patience. They told him that he'd come farther than anyone had thought in only a few months.

But it was almost worse somehow. Remembering who he used to be. Knowing how far away he was from that person.

His days were haunted by flashbacks, triggered without warning. He'd be watching a movie or reading the paper and all of a sudden, he was back out on assignment, hunting his prey, eliminating a target for Hydra. His nights were ripped apart by nightmares, visions of being strapped to a chair, of pure pain arcing through his body. He'd wake up breathless and panic-stricken in a dark room, his sheets soaked in sweat.

00000000

Bucky looked down at the piece of paper in his hands, blowing out a long slow breath, trying to gather the courage to open the door in front of him. According to the scrap of paper in his hands, written in Steve's carefully printed script, it was the right door. It was the right time. He just needed to push the door open.

"Ummm . . . are you going in?"

Bucky looked up to see a dark haired woman, pursing her lips together.

"Yeah . . . sorry," he managed and opened the door for her, stepping aside so that she could go through first.

"Oh, thanks," she said as she walked through the door, obviously surprised by the act of chivalry.

"You're welcome, ma'am."

"Ma'am? Does this outfit make me look that old? I'm wearing mom jeans, aren't I?" She tugged at the waistband of her pants.

Bucky colored, sorry that he'd given offense. "I apologize. Miss."

"Darcy," she supplied.

"Bucky." He held out his right hand and she shook it.

"Bucky? Really? I only know of one of guy with that name but he's . . ." Her eyes widened as they settled on his left hand, half hidden as he had it shoved in his jacket pocket, a flash of metal gleaming against the dark fabric. "He's you," she said in a half-whisper.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch. 2**

Bucky cringed as she slowly edged away from him. "I'm not like that anymore." He took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "At least, I hope I'm not. That's why I'm here." He waved at the room in general. "Steve thought it would help."

"Steve Rogers? As in Captain America?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

Bucky nodded and then smiled as he saw the tension begin to melt from her body. "How did you know? About me?"

"Um . . . I guess you could call it six degrees of separation. Less actually. I'm an intern for Dr. Foster. Thor's her . . . . I guess boyfriend doesn't really seem like the right word for it." She scowled and wrinkled her brow. "Interstellar cuddlebunny?"

Bucky bit his lower lip. He'd only met Thor once, but he couldn't quite imagine he'd like that nickname. "And Thor's part of the Avengers with Steve."

"So, more like four degrees." She paused for a moment, reassessing him. "So, a PTSD support meeting . . . makes sense after all you went through with the whole Hydra thing," she said. She winced as Bucky visibly flinched at name of his captors. "Sorry. My mouth works faster than my brain sometimes."

"Don't worry about it. And you?" He didn't really want to talk about his past.

Her face fell. "I didn't want to come. Jane . . . . that's Dr. Foster. She made me."

"Why?"

She looked down, not meeting his eyes. "Um . . . it's stupid. It's nothing."

"No, it isn't," he insisted. He could see the dark circles under her eyes. For someone so young, it aged her. "You're not sleeping."

She looked up at him and gave him a bright, false smile complete with "jazz hands". "That's because I live a wild and crazy life. Party all night, sleep . . . never."

"And now you're lying."

She gritted her teeth. "I have bad dreams," she admitted in a small voice.

"And why do you have them?" he prompted, taking a small step towards her.

"Stupid aliens keep trying to kill me." She snorted. "See, I told you it was dumb."

"Repeated attempts on your life seem like a pretty solid reason for having PTSD." He searched his memory for what Steve had told him about Thor. He'd been in quite a few devastating battles since he made his way to Earth. If Darcy had been in the middle of them, he could she why she was so shook up.

She shrugged. "So, you how did you get convinced to come to these meetings?"

"I already have to go to a shrink. She thought it'd help to go to a group support meeting . . . see that I'm not alone."

"Do you feel alone?"

Bucky shook his head. "Nah. I mean . . . not really. Steve's watching out for me. Sam, too." He remembered them finding him, getting him cleaned up, promising him that he didn't have to run anymore, that Hydra wasn't going to get him.

He wished he believed them.

"Falcon? You know him?" Her eyes lit up.

Bucky gave her a knowing look. Sam was quite the ladies' man. He could see how she'd like him. "Yeah. You know him, too?"

"Not personally. He's a hottie, though."

Bucky couldn't conceal his grin. "I'll have to let him know you approve."

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head violently. "No . . . you can't tell him that! You can't break the confidentiality of a support meeting. What happens here, stays here," she teased, giving him her first genuine smile.

"Alright," he relented. When she smiled, he was struck by how very beautiful she was. Bright blue eyes, full lips.

The noise in the room began to grow as more and more people began to enter, each taking a seat in rows facing a podium. "I guess we should sit?" Bucky suggested abruptly, gesturing towards the folding chairs.

She nodded and followed him to the back row, taking the seat next to him.

Bucky looked over at her, assessing her once again. Maybe going to a support meeting wasn't such a bad idea after all.

* * *

**Author's Note** \- I meant this to be a one-shot. Then, I got such lovely comments, I decided it was worth making into a two-shot. Now, I'm contemplating writing a third chapter. We'll see.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 3**

The meeting lasted for well over an hour. One by one, the men and women who had gathered there shared their stories. Some had suffered domestic abuse, still fearing their ex-partner's wrath. Most people, however, were from the military, relating stories of deployment after deployment, of losing friends in the line of fire, of returning home to broken families.

One person after another spoke of nightmares, of insomnia, of panic attacks, of flashbacks, of unexplained flashes of irrational anger triggered almost without warning. Bucky found himself nodding again and again as he saw his own experiences reflected in the people around him.

"You were awfully quiet," Bucky observed once the meeting concluded and people began to stand and fold up their chairs, dutifully lining them up against a far wall.

Darcy shrugged as she began to fold up her own chair. "You didn't say anything either."

Bucky followed her across the room to the wall, leaning his chair next to hers. "Opening up about my feelings . . . . it's not something I'm used to. Especially in a crowd of strangers." After World War 1, the idea of soldiers experiencing "shell shock" was something one would hear about from time to time, but in Bucky's experience growing up in the twenties and thirties, most people just preferred not to talk about it. And, while it may have been easier to just sweep things under the rug, Bucky knew firsthand how the horrors of war could dig into your soul and twist you into knots.

"Yeah. I get that."

The room was finally empty save them. Bucky decided to ask her the question he'd been thinking about the entire meeting. "Do you . . . do you have nightmares, too?" he asked as her looked at her bloodshot eyes. As much as he didn't want to talk about it, the raw pain on her face was impossible to ignore.

Darcy nodded, her eyes welling with tears as she wrapped her arms protectively around herself. "The worst dream is nothingness. Everything's gone. Everything's been swallowed up by the darkness. Everything's just winked out of existence. I . . . I feel like I'm drowning, but there no surface to swim towards. I feel like I can't breathe . . . like I'm choking in this airless void." She swallowed hard. "It's not like I can really share that with the group."

Bucky sighed. "Nah. I get it. It's hard when what you went through is so different from everyone else." He thought of his own time as Hydra's captive. Decades of punishment and pain. Losing his sense of himself. Being manipulated and lied to. The faces of his countless victims floating through his head.

"Do you have dreams?"

Bucky winced. "I wished they were just at night. I get flashbacks . . . my memories returning. I try to remind myself that it's all in the past, but it feels so real . . ." His voice trailed off as he looked at his hands. How many times had he washed another person's blood off of them? How many lives had he snuffed out? He knew that he might never remember them all.

Impulsively, she took his right hand and squeezed it. "You said it yourself. You're not alone."

He looked at her hand for a moment, his eyes unfocused. It had been decades since he held a woman's hand. It felt electric, like a live wire buzzing in his palm.

"Sorry," she mumbled, pulling her hand away.

He gave her a ghost of a grin. "No need to apologize."

"Um . . . . Jane's going to hound me about it, so I'll probably have to come next week, too. Are you . . . . are you coming back?" she asked softly as they both began walking towards the door.

Bucky hadn't planned on it. He was going to just tell Steve it didn't work out and stick to seeing the shrink every week. But, as he saw the glimmer of hope in Darcy's eyes, he knew his answer.

"I sure am."

* * *

**Author's Notes** \- Thanks for all of your sweet encouragement! I'm so very glad you've enjoyed this little fic.

 


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